Dear Hazel - back to school

 I missed you all summer. Your Dad and I couldn’t go to Point Pleasant without you…. We went to New Jersey to get away. We cried when we saw the signs for Point. I cried when I realized we hadn’t gotten the chance to take you to some of the places we loved to visit: Windmill, Strollos, Ocean Ave, and on and on. I cried at the flea market remembering the peppa pig dress we bought when you were 3. 

When we went to New Hope, I couldn’t go into Love Saves the Day without you. I could hear your excitement though. I remembered all the excitement and joy you’d have on vacation. There were times when I could hear you almost everywhere we went. 

We stayed at the same hotel you dubbed “Our new home.” I remembered how you’d sit in the chair and watch your tablet while your Dad watched TV and I would play games after a long day of fun. We just miss you and feel sad everyday. 

Now it’s time for back to school. I’m home for 2 weeks while your dad goes back to work. Today I wished you and I were hanging out in the pool in the back yard. Spending our days shopping for school clothes and supplies. You should be getting your hair cut and having play dates with your friends. 

There will never be a moment when I don’t think of you and beg God to bring our baby back. Never. 

Your Dad and I will always feel sad that you're not in our physical life with us. Always. 

We are starting to write the next chapter of our lives. We are accepting fully in our hearts, there is nothing we could have done to save you from the end of your life at such an early age. The best thing we can do is love you and remember you. You, Hazel, our bald baby will always be written on the pages of our life. Your love is branded on our hearts. 

We are looking into adoption, and trying to get pregnant as well. We're going to give you siblings, and you're going to be a great big sister. 

Dear Hazel,

 There is a part of myself who sits in the kitchen staring out the window. Replaying every moment of the week before you died. Still I’m searching for a time when I could have saved you. To remembering how I begged God for you to get well all weekend, just like I do every time you’re sick. “Please guide us through this, back to health.”. I’m picking through my own mental triage list, what did I miss? 

Sometimes I still catch my body clenching, waiting for you to breathe. Part of me is still waiting to go back. My internal mother part begs everyday to have you back. 

I can't stop begging God to bring you back. I can't stop my heart from aching. I can't stop grieving. Everyday I wake up, I try to appreciate the time we had with you. The joy you bring to our lives, and the memories we made together as a family. The usual memories come up vacations, birthday parties, ya know the highlights. Some of the most precious memories are Friday nights after work, when were all chilling in the house together. Dancing, laughing, and playing together. Tickle time, and laughing about Barron family inside jokes. 

I love you so much Hazel, and I miss you. 

Hazel 4 months of grief - turning the page

 It's been a long haul since March 25th. Everyday has felt like a year and a few seconds at the same time. Stuck in the time warp of grief so many others have known before me. I find myself often thinking of Hazel's Great Grandmother Hazel Elizabeth Harrison. I think about how she spent her days between the loss of her daughter Norma Lee and when she found out she was pregnant again. I wonder if she spent days in bed. Did she neglect herself? or her bathroom? Did she cook any meals? How did she convince herself to keep going? How did she handle her grief? How did she talk to herself about her daughter Normal-Lee? What did she remember or angst over?

Some days I think of Hazel, and I wonder what she is doing. I wonder how she feels about missing out on her life. For such a small body she had a large spirit and already had a full life. Today I kept remembering what it felt like to pick her up, feel her wrap her arms around my neck and intertwine her fingers in my hair and feel us loving each other. I was remembering all the times I would come home from work, and she would be so excited to see me and yell "Mommy! You're home!" I was remembering more recent times when I would be able to pick her up from school and hear the same enthusiasm. 

I was thinking about how I would try to see her without my own projections and expectations. I could see her light, and passion for life. Her desire for friendships and play. I am remembering more of the lessons and growth as a mother, than the grief of losing her. I continue to parent her loving spirit and imagine all the people I have loved and are keeping her company in the afterlife. Heather, Steve, Grandma Rose, Aunt Sharon, Aunt Pat, Grandma Hazel, Jenny Dilman-Marks, and so many more. Hazel will always be remembered and celebrated. We love you our bald baby. My little nugget of love. We see your spirit all around us and are loving you back. 

Love mom and dad

Hazel grief - around 100 days days

I have a routine. Wake up, drink water. Take vitamins.  Try to work in the yard or go for a walk. Eat breakfast, drink water. complete a chore. Read for an hour. Drink water. Take a nap. Make dinner. Drink water. Cry. Watch a show. Fall asleep. 

It’s hard to make sense of anything outside my routine. I can do it, if I have enough time, and I go slow. Neither come easy for me. I can be still for periods of time, but consistent slowing down is not my comfort zone. I miss my quick and lively wit. 

 I have to keep track of time. I look at my calendar a lot. I have to check 3 times before information sinks in. Most of the time I have to say it out loud. “Acupuncture at 10 am Wednesday the 18th of July.  Then therapy at 1pm.” If I don’t, I can end up following the next relief or place of comfort… I forget I made plans. I can forget life is still moving along.

 I can forget, the layers of joy in life. Pastor David reminded me, ‘God does not want us to worry’. God wants us to love you. To keep living and showing up with our best selves. Whatever that looks likeZ 

It’s painful to learn to tolerate and participate in the wonderful mundane day to day life with you Hazel. We miss you so much, and we look for you. We all miss you honey, my little nugget of love. ❤️🖤

Hazel - 90 days

 

06/21/2024

06/21/2024

It’s been almost 90 days since Hazel became sick with an illness that would take her life. I see her in my dreams, and I hear her in my mind every day. Almost all day long. I crave to hear her voice and hold her hand. It’s been a journey to build confidence as a mother.

When Hazel was a baby, I know now, that I was experiencing post partum PTSD and Anxiety. I could not sleep for long. I kept worrying Hazel would die in her sleep like my sister Heather Jo. After the first few days of not sleeping, I was getting worse. Paranoid, irritable toward Bob, and just an all-around mess. Thankfully Bob could see what I needed and helped me out. Finally, I slept for 4 hours straight. When I woke up, I cried for a while in bed. I made my way downstairs and apologized to Bob in tears.

I knew I couldn’t go on in the same way. I had remembered a training I had taken and dug out my notes. The training was on Polyvagal Theory in therapy. I had remembered that singing helped activate the vagus nerve, which is the seat of connection and self regulation.  I immediately thought of ‘You are my sunshine’ a song my mom sane to me. It was short and I knew the words. It was good, but I needed something else. I needed to resource my new mom part. She was struggling to find footing. The first person that came to mind was my friend Jenny. She had an amazing singing voice, and was incredibly tender and loving toward me. She used to sing ‘Women with wings’ and ‘Down to the River to pray’ often. I started signing down to the river to pray. I pictured Jenny signing with me to Hazel and encouraging me to keep going, to steal myself against the anxieties and insecurities.

I sang ‘Down to the River to Pray’ to her every day and night. Some nights I would lay her on my chest, rub her back, and rock her until she slept. I started talking to Hazel like she could understand me. I would recite validations to her, one for each letter of the alphabet for the first year of her life. I would smell her head too and work on my attunement to her.

I miss the weight of her body, and her smell. I miss the rise and fall of her chest. I miss her smile. I miss the way she would tell me what we were doing on any given day. I miss signing with her in the car. I miss every ounce of her. Every minute of our life with her alive within it.